Not Dead Yet, Love
by PotterAnon
Summary: LoM Fic. Gene/Missus. 'She followed him, utterly powerless, full of nauseating dread. This was it. This was finally it. He’d finally got himself killed, he’d done something stupid or something heroic and he’d died.'


**Title: Not Dead Yet, Love  
Pairing: **Gene/Missus**  
Rating/Warnings: **PG/Swearing**  
Spoilers: **None  
**Author's note: **I love the Missus.  
**Summary: **_She followed him, utterly powerless, full of nauseating dread. This was it. This was finally it. He'd finally got himself killed, he'd done something stupid or something heroic and he'd died._

**Not Dead Yet, Love**

Sophie never made much food on Christmas Day. Gene always told her to cook, he'd be there, he'd be at the table in time, but inevitably his work came first. Which was exactly what she'd known before she'd married him, and it was still exactly why she never made much food.

Gene sighed even this year, having just put down the phone, shrugging on his coat.

"Crime just doesn't appreciate a well-cooked turkey, does it?" Sophie chuckled, arms folded and feeling oddly cold. Gene glanced up from where he'd been rooting in the fruit bowl for his keys and badge.

"Love, y'know I've got teh go…"

"Every year," she said quietly, still smiling. "I know. It'll still be here when you get back." Brushing aside frustration and not a little bit of anger, she kissed Gene on the cheek. "Catch scum for me, yeah? And give 'em a smack from me for makin' you miss dinner."

"Will do. I'll even give 'em a good kick an' all."

She knew she wouldn't see him for hours, but it didn't stop her looking at the clock. Counting the minutes. Waiting for him. The house grew dark and lonely, cold, and seemed huge to her, wandering through it. She'd accepted along time ago that she was second, would always be second to Gene's work, but it didn't make it any easier. He'd been gone for a good hour and half – not long, when crime was concerned, but it felt like days – when someone knocked on the door. She peered down the hall at the unfamiliar figure in the frosted glass. Slowly, she approached the door.

"Evening, Mrs. Hunt," said a short-haired bloke with a leather jacket, waving a police badge in her face. "DI Tyler, I'm a colleague of you're husband's. Would you mind coming with me?"

Sophie felt ice slide into her belly. A thousand questions reared up in her head.

"What's happened?" she asked. "Where's Gene? What's happened to him?"

Sam held up a hand. "Please, Mrs. Hunt. I need you to come with me. Get your coat."

She got into the car with the Inspector, wrapping her coat around her. He drove in silence, along narrow side roads and into the centre of Manchester, and she knew they were heading for the station. All the worst thoughts erupted in her mind, suffocating her. She was so panicked by the time Tyler held the door open for her that she was almost on the verge of tears.

"This way, please."

She followed him, utterly powerless, full of nauseating dread. This was it. This was finally it. He'd finally got himself killed, he'd done something stupid or something heroic and he'd died. Footsteps echoed deafeningly around her and despite her coat she was frozen as they climbed up through the labyrinth of the station. Eventually, high, high up in the building, Tyler halted before a solid, green varnished door.

"You ready?"

She swallowed. "Don't even know what I'm s'posed to be ready for," she laughed nervously, nodding nonetheless, squaring to face the door. Tyler shoved it open.

It was the roof. They were on the roof of the station – why? Why the hell would Tyler bring her here, of all places.

"Stop standing around, Tyler, and offer the lady a drink."

Relief the likes of which she'd never felt drowned her, engulfing her in one swift motion as she realised who that voice belonged to, and she swivelled around so quickly that she almost lost her footing, except that Gene dived forward and held her up, chuckling.

"Bloody 'ell love, thought I told you not to start on the wine without me…"

Sophie stood there, stock still. Then she smacked him so hard that he coughed, and had to hold her at arm's length she evade her fists.

"What's going on, Gene! I thought you'd been fucking killed you idiot man!"

"Killed? Never… I've been cooking."

Sophie gaped, still hanging onto Gene's forearms with incredible zeal.

"Cooking?"

"Well technically Tyler cooked. I'm just taking the credit."

He stepped aside, and a table placed in the middle of the roof and set up for two came into view. Sophie had never been more astounded. Words, even complex thought utterly failed her.

"Tyler…"

She looked round to see Tyler's leather jacket flying out behind him as he hastily retreated down the steps. Slowly, the feeling came back to Sophie's legs and she wobbled. Gene laughed.

"What's the matter with yeh, you silly mare?"

She looked at him, leaning her forehead against his and sighing, feeling like she'd been holding her breath for hours.

"I thought you'd got yourself done in, Gene."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm still live and kickin'. 'Ey, 'ey," he said, lifting her chin, seeing dampness in the corners of her eyes. "Don't be silly now, I'm fine, I'm fine."

She laughed a very gurgly laugh. "No you're not. You're being _romantic_. If you're not already dead that must mean you're _going_ to die."

Gene laughed, and enveloped her in a hug. She'd never felt to secure as she did that moment, with adrenaline and relief in her veins.

"Come on then," she said eventually. "You better get that bottle open. I could do with a drink after the fright you've give me."

&


End file.
